Not a lot of people understand what I do. Immediately they begin saying how hard my job is and how wonderful of a person you have to be, in order to work in a field such as this.

I never know what to say, how to react, or even where to begin with this stigma that has been created for those who have not worked in home health care. I can, however, break down my day, in the monotonous ritual that is my profession.

It all starts when you walk in the door, to see which one of your girls will be waiting there to greet you, waiting to give you a hug, or tell you how their day was the usual stuff. Sometimes, however, you walk into a raging storm of emotions, tears, and what our tools trainer calls "junk behavior."

Due to the delicate nature of the rules and regulations that stipulate what we can and cannot say about our jobs, I'll have to change a couple of names, maybe a few facts, however, rest assured I won't change the nature of my article.

I normally work with two ladies, lets call them...Lilo and Stich.

Lilo is our oldest lady, she has a hard time with speech but loves everyone dearly. As we say around the office, Lilo hugs with her heart, not her hands. So usually, as soon as I walk in, I am greeted with a hug, an I love you, and a "Will you come watch TV with me?"

Which, of course, you do.

Then there is Stich, our problem child. She is an extremely beautiful young lady, who is fueled by emotion. She can be crying one minute, telling you she hates you, and the next you're best friends. She is an unpredictable roller coaster or laughs, tears, and tantrums.

I basically have a reoccurring track or sentences I say every day, that could be played on repeat. Hey, if they did that, I may not even have to show up to work. "Yes, Stich you can call your boyfriend." "Lilo say please!" "Stich sweetheart why are you crying?" "Lilo can I please have some space, I'm eating right now." "Stich, wake up, it's time for dinner!" "No Lilo it's not time for your medicine" Repeat about a hundred times and you've basically summed up each of my eight-hour shifts.

Here's the thing, though.

I love these girls, more than I thought I could love people who, a few months ago I never even knew existed. I've begun looking at the world, at life, at myself, differently because of these two amazing humans. Though most days, it seems as if I have a moody teenager and a toddler attached to my leg, the lessons provided for me here are ones I'm sure would not have been given to me anywhere else.

I've had to be more patient. When a task doesn't get done when I think it should be done, or we sit in the parking lot for ten minutes while I buckle them up, I've learned it's okay. To praise them for their efforts, to make a fun seat belt song so they stay patient (and so do I) while we are struggling to get everyone packed and ready to go on an outing. To understand their setbacks, or anxieties; not to fix them, but to listen and realize that they are valid, and they are very much there.

I've learned to communicate with more love and understanding. To focus on the positives, to come to the realization that not everything needs to have logic or reason, that we can have emotions and fears without them seeming real to anyone but us.

I've learned to be empathetic. That people aren't houses that need repairs, they are hearts who need ears; just someone to listen and to love them.

I've learned to slow down, from my 90 to nothing go, go, go, attitude to stopping and smelling the roses. That life should be full of quiet moments, full of laughing at dumb jokes, games of peek a boo or random dance parties.

One of the most important things I've learned from my girls is to never take myself too seriously, that making them laugh is well worth making myself their own personal jester. That my purpose in life is to make people smile, laugh and feel good.

To anyone who sees this job as difficult, it is. For anyone who thinks it takes a "special" person. That's where I would have to disagree. It doesn't take pieces of something not everyone has. It is giving extra of what you do. It's the realization that people are all looking to connect; no matter where they are from, how fast they learn, what color their skin, what they earn, what they believe in, etc. It's just giving people all of those things you've wished for deep in the recesses of your soul. To be optimistic, loving, understanding, empathic, and someone who can listen with the intent of understanding, not to reply.

I fail daily. No one is ever going to be perfect enough to take every opportunity to be those things. We all falter and make mistakes. But walking into this house every day forces me to make an effort, to walk in with the intention of doing good.

So, again, it doesn't take a special person to do this job, some people, like myself, just get lucky to do it.